Page 97 of Like Grim Death: Part One
I can still feel her heat though. How wet she is. She breathes into my ear, whimpering as she rides me without insertion. It’s barely cheating, right? It’s not even crossing the line, is it?
My thoughts echo back an answer to me as I feel my balls tighten.
What lines, Lucifer?
But there are lines. I know it.I know it.
Sid.
Silver eyes. Full lips. Dark hair. So small and fierce and devilish, and so fuckingmine.
I’m sorry.But because of the drugs, I can barely feel it, the regret.
I know it’ll hurt me too though. When this is all over, it’ll fucking hurt. I force myself to speak, trying to hold onto my sanity. “Get the fuck off me, or when this is over…” I twist my head, pressing my lips to the tip of this strange woman’s ear, guessing in the dark.“I will fucking bury you alive after my brothers rip you apart.”
She freezes.
My heart races, and I almost groan, hating it. Needing her.Hating her.
But if she doesn’t stop, I’ll jerk my head back and crash my temple into her nose. I prepare for it, the motion repeating in my head even though it’s hard, wanting violence, when I feel so…fucked up.
I don’t have to do it though. Because slowly, her weight is lifted from me, and my dick is aching, still straining out the top of my pants, but… she’s gone.
I lean back in my chair, my arms aching from being bound. My heart racing from a mistake. Desire though, it’s still strong, its grip around my throat.
I wish my wife was here. My wife, my. Fucking. Wife.
Time stretches, and my mind reels, floating higher and higher with thoughts of Lilith, calming me down, down. The music keeps playing, and as the seconds, minutes, hours stretch on, it’s like my mind is playing too. It feels as if my body is rolling in the notes, the bass, the snare drum, the hum of a voice.
I don’t know how much time has passed, I’m not even sure I know whattimeis anymore, when there’s movement around me. I hear my chains clank to the ground before I realize my wrists are free. The same with the shackles on my ankles, they clink to the cement floor before I move, slumping down out of my chair to the ground.
I don’t remove my blindfold, pressed like a feather against my eyes. It feels like it would be too much work, and there’s another voice in my ear. Maybe more, they all morph together, echoing.
“Crawl to him.”It’s masculine, sensual. Familiar, but not.“Crawl to him, Luce.”That name, is it me? A hand comes to my hood, pulling it back from my head, and the air is cold, I realize as I shiver, still sitting on the floor.
More hands come to my body, pulling the robe off me. I have to move my hips, I have to angle my limbs, but they strip the robe away, then my arms are lifting of their own accord and my hoodie and my shirt come free, chilly air causing my muscles to clench.
“Crawl, lover boy.”Someone licks the lobe of my ear and desire presses inside my body again, like it’s squeezed onto my tongue from a tube. All I want to do is obey the voice, so I shift to my hands and knees, cold concrete beneath my splayed fingers.
As I crawl, someone pulls off my sweats, pushes off my shoes. It’s as if I’m crawling in the darkoutof my clothes, and I only have on my boxer briefs when my fingers touch something warm.
Lips come to the back of my neck, fingertips gliding down my spine. Bodies press in beside me, worshiping me with hands all over me. Someone’s fingers come around my waist, then lower, grasping onto my cock. It feels electric, the pleasure shocking through me.
“Own him, Lucifer.”The same voice, so familiar. A brother, in my ear.
I reach my fingers out, still blind from the darkness pressing in and the velvet cloth over my eyes. I feel thick curls, then I trail lower. Cheekbones. Smooth skin. A mouth with wickedly sensual lips.
I have the urge to devour him with my own.
I dip my head, brushing my lips over his, the outside of my forearm bumping hard skin. This man’s body. His breath catches, and he smells clean.
“Climb over him.”The voice floats, but it caresses too.
I don’t know how to move my body in this vast amount of space around me, but hands come to my arms, gently gripping, and help me position myself until my knees are straddling someone’s hips, and when I lower my head, it’s a hard chest my tongue is met with.
“Be gentle with him. You hurt him, remember?”
Hurt. Ihurt?In this moment, it doesn’t seem possible, but someone begins to stroke me again and I don’t recall when the sensation let up. All I know is it’s back, and as I lick a line up this man’s chest, tasting the salt of his skin, I feel something soft on my tongue too. Something strange and cottony. Inhuman.
